


Giving

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e15 Dead Irish Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-21
Updated: 2003-02-21
Packaged: 2019-05-15 04:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: The things we do for the ones we love.





	Giving

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Giving**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Category:** Abbey, Marbury, post-ep (Dead Irish Writers)  
**Rating:** CHILD  
**Summary:** The things we do for the ones we love.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no money being made, please don't sue.  


"Dear, dear Abigail," he sighed, his lanky frame melting into the doorway.  The room was far enough from the party that nobody would really come that way, but close enough that the sounds still hummed and murmured down the hall.  His head rolled to the side lazily, and he had one hand stuffed in his pocket while the other grasped a shot glass. 

"Lord John Marbury," she returned, raising her glass of wine to him.  "What brings you here?" 

"I wanted to find you," he said, carelessly swaggering into the room.  "It was getting to be quite the party, you know." 

"That's why I left," she said, chuckling softly. 

He tipped his head to the side and regarded her solemnly.  "Gerald told me what you're planning, Abigail." 

"Why is it you call him Gerald?" 

"Because Leo is an absolutely horrid name," he said, grimacing slightly.  "It's ... common.  Gerald suits him so much better." 

She shook her head and finished her wine.  "You know it bugs the hell out of him." 

"And your husband isn't flustered when you call him 'Jethro'?" he countered, dropping into the chair opposite her. 

"Yes, but I say it with love," Abbey said. 

"And who says I say 'Gerald' with anything but love?" 

"True." 

He absently swirled the liquor around the bottom of his glass and stared at it as it lapped against the sides.  "The things we do for the ones we love," he sighed. 

"The things we do to the ones we love," she corrected bitterly. 

Marbury looked up, and appraised her with soft eyes.  "Do you regret it?" he asked quietly. 

It took her a moment, and her gaze remained lost in thought.  "No," she said sadly.  "I should, though, shouldn't I?" 

"I can't answer that for you." 

"Yeah." 

He downed the last of his drink and gently set the glass on the table.  "I'm so very sorry, Abbey." 

She shrugged and chuckled mirthlessly.  "It's just for the next five years.  And it's not as if I was practicing when we got here, anyway." 

"It might only be for the next few months," he said. 

She stared at him, skeptical.  "You don't actually believe that, do you?" 

"Not in the least." 

She looked away, her eyes clouded over and her face taut.  "I'm a doctor, John." 

"Yes," he said, absently fingering the shot glass. 

"But," she added, sighing, "I'm also the First Lady." 

"Must give up one job for the other," he murmured, staring down into his empty glass.  "One duty, one ... set of beliefs must be sacrificed for the greater good." 

She looked back at him, and they sat there, quietly, for a few moments.  Then, she asked, "What's wrong?" 

"Brendan McGann cannot come to the White House," he said slowly, gently tapping the glass on every word. 

For another moment, they were quiet again until Abbey smirked and said, "Would grabbing my breasts make you feel better?" 

He instantly perked up, like a puppet being yanked by marionette strings, and smiled lopsidedley at her.  "Nothing would make me happier than being able to caress those magnificent mounds-" 

"John!" 

"-those beautiful, bounteous, magnificent-" 

"You already said magnificent," she interrupted, unsuccessfully trying to keep a smile off her face. 

"Yes, well, the liquor's finally getting to me," he dashed off. 

"The liquor's never gotten to you for as long as I've known you," she retorted. 

"Well, then it must be your stunning beauty that's distracting me," he replied, his mouth curling up at the corners. 

"Is it just in your genes to flirt with anything that moves?" she asked. 

"Is it in yours to disarm with humor?" he countered. 

"As a matter of fact, it is," she said, smiling. 

He laughed, a short little thing, and said, "Well, as much as grasping those lovely breasts of yours would cheer me up, I must decline.  That husband of yours would beat me to a pulp." 

She raised her eyebrows and asked, "Are we talking about the same man, here?  I'm married to Jed, you know, not Leo." 

"Oh, he plays the intellectual, but he's really quite the brute," Marbury warned.  "When I tried to explain cricket to him, he threatened to crush my skull with a tea kettle, you know." 

"Well, maybe you should keep your hands off the merchandise then," she laughed. 

"Perhaps."  He got up, stretching his legs as he grabbed the shot glass from the table.  "Well, I'll leave you now to - what was it you were doing?" 

"Wallowing in the misery that is my particular mid-life crisis," she answered, smiling up at him.  "You?" 

"Contemplating the paradox of promoting peace through discussion by advocating a man not be allowed to talk about his problems," he replied. 

She nodded and poured herself another glass of wine.  "You know, you seemed a little pissed at Leo earlier tonight." 

"He'd passed me off to Toby Ziegler, and, as much as I respect and admire Toby Ziegler, it was Gerald who I'd wanted to get through to.  He knew it.  Because he knew it, and because he also knows I cannot be irritated at him for very long, he passed me off," he said. 

"The things we do to the ones we love," she murmured. 

"The things we do for the ones we love," he corrected.  He took her hand and kissed the back of it, saying, "Happy birthday, Abigail."  

He left; she put her glass down, stretched her arms, and returned to her party. 

-end- 


End file.
